Since no one died, I can say I’m glad to have been through it.  Call me insane.  Natural disasters (or natural near-disasters) don’t really frighten me, and this is probably not much of a surprise to anyone, least of all my friend the LifePundit.  I regard them as problems requiring solutions, if it becomes severe enough to warrant. 

     Starting at about 0026, a pretty good sized jolt hit the house, followed by some wobbling back and forth.  It knocked a few glasses over and kicked a book out of the shelf.  It also toppled my wife’s stereo speakers. 

     Initially I thought a large construction truck was driving down the street.  This was common last year as a new neighborhood went up in the lots next to us.  They shook the house a little bit.  However, when my wife bolted upright and said "Earthquake!" and started to grab the family heirloom, I shouted a triumphant "YES!"  I finally got to play in an earthquake! No more sleeping through the little 3-point-somethings the New Madrid Fault offered or even the 4.X on the California Central Coast back in 1995.  This wasn’t exactly the big kahuna, but it’s about as big as it could have been and not have been deadly.  In any case, it was all over within short order, only about 45 seconds of shaking. 

     Since I’ve always wanted to experience an earthquake of decent size and no one got hurt, I’m declaring victory with regard to this objective in my life. 

     I once saw a blog quote generator come up with something to the effect "You can no more win a war than you can win an earthquake."  I need to get in touch with the author of that quote and set him/her straight on both counts. 

     I know this has to be the case because every time I get back to my desk after changing the baby’s diapers, the coffee cup I just poured prior to the event has become cold. 

     That reminded me of the one of the things I liked about living in Phoenix in summer.  I could leave my coffee mug in the truck during church and when I got back to it after the service, it was still hot! This was great because I could finish drinking it while waiting for the steering wheel to cool off enough to touch it. 

     Gerolsteiner has been arriving at the Misawa commissary pretty regularly in 1.0 liter glass bottles every week or so.  There seem to be just enough drinkers that there are occassional runs on it, and I’m forced to switch to Perrier (or *gasp/horrors*–tap water!).  Recently the commissary has been stocking Gerolsteiner in plastic 1.0 liter bottles.  I suppose I got so used to plastic 1.0 liter soda bottles that I didn’t realize the plastic bottles are a lot smaller and lighter than glass. 

     I’m sure whomever is paying the shipping is now spending much less money getting the stuff over here.  You’d think they’d lower the price a little bit, but then why would they do that when we’re used to paying $1.49 a bottle? I think what really bothers me is that Gerolsteiner is a GmbH, not an AG; it’s not a publicly traded company, therefore I have no opportunity to profit from my own tastes. 

     During his fussy times, I’ve found one of the best ways to calm him down is to simply march in circles around the dining room table while cradling him in my arms.  He seems to enjoy the festival of lights from the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, and outdoors as they briefly come into and out of view.  The other standard techniques of putting him in a car seat and driving, or taking him for a walk with the stroller also work nicely.  But when I march him around the table I can quickly put him back to bed, or at least watch (parts of) the news, listen to a CD, or just chat with Christina while she cooks or cleans. 

     I just hope my table doesn’t collapse on the seventh day! If seven priests with rams horns show up, I’ll stop marching, and hope that the resultant baby wailing doesn’t finish it off!

     I think I said something to the effect "You mean ‘My wife,’ right?"

     "No, it’s really your Mom," he replied.

     Thinking this had to be some sort of joke, I took the handset and answered "Major Penningroth." 

     It really was my Mom.  She had called to let me know Grandma Penningroth had just passed away.

     So as I was heading earthward from the heavens from my sortie this morning, her soul passed by.  I’m sure she blew me a kiss.  That was what she did. 

     Mother and son are doing splendidly! Christina spent 2 hours, 19 minutes in labor.  This was our first kid, and since I figured she was going to be in labor for a good long time, I suggested she take the epidural.  She elected to go with no drugs.  I’m pretty proud of her!

     Immediately following the birth, I started trying to teach the kid Faraday’s Law, but then I realized I forgot it after the physics final back in 1989.  I settled with reciting the equation for general relativity.  The nurses then suggested I try a lullaby.  I don’t know what’s more sleep-inducing, the barely-remembered songs of my infancy, or the partially-remembered nuclear physics from college.  Either way I went, he fell asleep pretty quickly. 

     I’d best start teaching him how to play football.

     . . . That would be NFL football, the other game is called soccer, no matter what my European wife says!

     Christina looked totally cute, she dug out some hairspray and did the big hair act (as did most of the other spouses).  We both found jeans jackets.  I grabbed a Cheers t-shirt (bought it in Boston to replace the old Cheers t-shirt Scott brought me from Bean-town back in 1989).  Christina found a turquoise shirt with logo "It started with a kiss…."

     One of the guys dressed up as Boy George (that was disturbingly good makeup work).  One of the gals was Punky Brewster.  There was at least one Like a Virgin version of Madonna, and another Desperately Seeking Susan version.  One of the spouses did a credible Flashdance dress-up.  A couple of the new guys showed up looking like Crockett and Tubbs from Miami Vice.  The squadron commander even wore his letterman’s jacket sporting ’83.  Shoot! Even I wasn’t in high school the year he graduated!

     I stopped to chat with the guys dressed like Miami Vice and asked where they got the duds, who was Crockett, and who was Tubbs?

     They had no idea what I was talking about.  They said they’d just Google’d 1980s garb, then went to the dollar store in Hachinohe and picked the stuff up.  Uh, oh! When did I get so old?

     Kane and his wife did a great job setting up, too.  He’d printed out pictures from the movie Iron Eagle (the movie us Viper pilots love to hate).  Best of all, he had Top Gun on in the background.  I remember when my best buddy Brian and I decided in 1986 to go see it; I thought it was another western movie.  Like so many others, that movie galvanized my desire to be a fighter pilot.  Unlike several others, I realized then that I would probably rather go home every night from work than land on a boat, so I joined the Air Force. 

     I miss the 80s.  We had a nice, sane, rational foe in the Soviet Union, not a stream of crazed Islamic terrorists.  Reagan was in charge.  Americans were flush with optimism.  MTV and video games made their debut.  We had one of the best bull market rallies in history.  Those were the days, and there’ll never be another decade quite the same. 

    The only idiosynchracy I’ve noticed and had to adjust to is her habit of leaving the caps off of pens.  Her left side of the road driving is coming along nicely, and she’s adjusting well to military life. 

    I’m really enjoying this husband-wife thing!

    Next, I have to find the translated manual on how to run the heater in the bedroom.  I sure have been sleeping pretty well, but we’re almost to the point I’ll get hypothermic if I kick the blanket off the bed in my sleep.  I probably ought to run the heater in there just a little.